


Appointment In Savannah

by cuddyclothes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sam Winchester is Scarred For Life, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddyclothes/pseuds/cuddyclothes
Summary: A possessed cotton gin is killing people. While the Winchesters are in town, Sam decides to try therapy, without Dean's knowledge.Written in 2013 for the spn_bigpretzel anniversary par-tay. This is pre-Bunker.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets Dr. Penzance

The psychologist leaned back in his large leather chair. The office windows were open, and the sweet Savannah air floated in. He steepled his fingers, folder in his lap. “So, Mr. Winchester, what brings you here? And why are you so concerned that your brother doesn’t know? Does he live nearby?”

Sam could barely squeeze into the smaller leather chair across from the doctor. “Dr. Penzance, I’ve been having some problems lately relating to my job. It’s the routine, you know? It’s starting to get to me. It’s getting harder and harder to get out of bed.”

“Many people have that problem,” the doctor observed. “Have you thought of changing jobs?”

“Oh, god, yes!” Sam couldn’t help laughing. “You have no idea!”

“So, tell me what part of your routine is getting you down? Mr. Winchester, there are ways to learn new approaches, to frame your experience differently.”

There was a long pause before Sam spoke. “I hate getting...strangled.”

“Excuse me? I didn’t catch that.”

“I hate getting strangled. I’m tired of being thrown into walls. I’m tired of being cursed—I mean, my entire family is cursed, that’s why they keep dying. But other kinds of curses. My brother’s gotten cursed, too, which is a bitch when you’re sharing a motel room with a guy and all you want to do is lock yourself in the bathroom before Cas shows up and—and babbles some Enochian and Dean’s okay again. And I’m really, really fed up with getting the shit kicked out of me and knocked out. My brain must be like a football player’s.” Sam gave a rueful smile and put out his hands on either side, a nonverbal _see what I mean_? “I was studying to be a lawyer, but then I got pulled back into the family business.”

Dr. Penzance seemed unperturbed by Sam’s confession. “You must have amazing physical resilience.”

Sam smiled. “Yeah. Both me and my brother.”

“And you say you live together in a motel room?”

“Motel rooms. We travel all over the country in an old car, and I’ve gotten too tall to be comfortable in it. And my brother with his damn road games. He’s like a little kid! He counts license plates and tries to guess how many Kansas plates we’re going to see in an hour.” Sam covered his face with his huge hands. “And he sings ‘One hundred bottles of beer on the wall.’ Over and over. Dr. Penzance, I dream of sitting in a plane, looking out the window, with enough leg room and complete silence.” He paused. “How come you’re not freaking out over all of this?” Sam’s body tensed and he reached for the gun in his waistband.

“Relax,” said the doctor with a reassuring smile. “You’re not the first hunter I’ve had as a patient. You heard of me through another hunter, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah. He’s a hunter named Garth.”

“Ah, yes, Garth. Hunters need someone to talk to who will keep doctor-patient confidentiality. It’s a rough life, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You love your brother, yes?”

“He’s the only family I’ve got.”

“But you want to kill him half the time, yes?”

“You have no idea.” Sam rubbed his face. “I love Dean, doc, I really do. But I’ve had a taste of waking up in the same bed every morning, clipping hedges, sitting around reading something other than supernatural lore—I finally got to read ‘The Great Gatsby’! My brother’s still pissed at me about it.”

“Perhaps you should come in for family therapy.”

“NO! I want to have my own problems for a change. Do you take insurance?”

Dr. Penzance gave Sam an incredulous look. “Health insurance from a man who has innumerable false identities? No. _No_ checks, _no_ credit cards, cash only. And if you don’t pay, there are other hunters who will look for you. You do understand, don’t you, Mr. Winchester? It’s the cost of doing business.”

“Yeah, I get it. You know the game.” 

“Very well, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. How long will you be in town?”

“Probably six weeks on this job. There’s an old cotton gin that’s eating tourists. After that, I don’t know.”

“We can start with twice-weekly, then. I do phone sessions as well, Sam.”

“Thank goodness.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dr. Penzance unlocked his office door, grateful that he had an hour until his first patient. It was a lovely morning. He would have time to fix himself some coffee, and—

“UHNG!” A man’s denim-clad arm was around his neck, and he felt the barrel of a pistol against his temple. 

“Who—who—“

“I’m _Sam Winchester’s brother_ ,” the man said. “What have you done to him?”

“I haven’t done anything. Now, if you calm down, Mr. Winchester—“

The man released him. The man was shorter than his brother, with more delicate features, but a killer’s eyes. No wonder Sam wanted privacy, living with a violent lunatic. “Come on, you sonavabitch, you’ve done something to him! He didn’t want me knowing about you, but I followed him here. When he came out, he’d been crying. My brother is the most important person in the world to me, so dammit, what have you done?”

“I’m—I’m his therapist. Sam has been seeing me for two weeks, twice a week.” Dr. Penzance paused. “You must be Dean.”

“Therapist? You expect me to believe that crap?”

“You can see my diplomas on the wall, Dean. I can’t discuss your brother’s case, but you should know that I often treat hunters. Garth sent him here.”

“Fucking _Garth_!”

“Why don’t you sit down, Dean? Perhaps we can talk about this.”

“I don’t need small talk, Dr. Feelgood, I need you to promise to never see my brother again.”

“That’s a decision your brother has to make, Dean. Please, sit down.”

Dean pocketed his gun and sat down in the leather chair as if it was going to swallow him. Dr. Penzance took his seat opposite, his face radiating bland concern. “Dean, though I disapprove of your methods, I admire your loyalty to your brother.”

“He’s family, Doc. He’s the only family I got.”

“Do you find it...threatening that he is talking to me? A stranger?”

“He shouldn’t have to! He can talk to me!”

Dr. Penzance smiled. “My patients talk to me in private, allowing them to express their deepest feelings. Now, Dean, let’s take you.”

Dean gave him a sidelong look. “Why?”

“You’re looking at me suspiciously, your body is coiled, and you are trying not to betray any feelings except righteous anger. Am I right?”

“This touchy-feely stuff is crap.” Dean made to stand up, but was checked by a noise from the doctor.

“Uh-uh! Are you afraid, Dean?”

“I’m not afraid of anything!” Dean spat.

Dr. Penzance tilted his head, gazing into Dean’s eyes. “You’ve had a hard time of it, haven’t you, Dean.”

Dean laughed bitterly. “You have no freakin’ idea.”

“Hunters have a difficult life. Demons, monsters, never being able to let down your guard, not even trusting those around you. They could be possessed, they could be monsters, or worst of all, they could desert you.”

“Sam would never desert me.”

“But that’s what you’re truly afraid of, isn’t it, Dean? Sam was able to build a life without you, without hunting, but you’ve never really been able to do that, have you?”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “I tried. But no, I couldn’t.” He raised his voice. “And that just sucks! He can get along without me? I can’t get along without him! He’s my little brother! He got a house with some chick while I was in Purgatory—“ his voice cracked. “It’s like he didn’t even _care_ that I was in hell’s armpit! Why didn’t he look for me, Doc?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge anything Sam has told me.”

Dean whipped out his pistol and pointed it at Dr. Penzance. “Oh, yes you can.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, but killing me would not only get you arrested, your brother would not forgive you, and many hunters are my patients. Please put down the gun. You’re not responsible for Sam. He’s a grown man. You’re a grown man. Why can’t you let go, even a little bit?”

Dean looked down at the floor for a long minute. “I can’t,” he said to the carpet. “I just can’t. I’ll lose him, like I’ve lost everybody else. My mom, my dad, everybody.”

“I am sorry about your mother’s death. Tell me about your father. He seems to have been a great influence on your lives. Do you miss him?”

The pause before Dean spoke seemed endless. That was all right, Dr. Penzance was used to sitting opposite strong, silent types.

“No.”

“Why?”

“He did the best he could—“ Dean’s head snapped up. “No, he didn’t! Jesus, dragging us around the country, to motel rooms, training us to be killer Marines like he was—we didn’t have a goddamn childhood! We could have stayed at a relative’s house!” Dean gave a bitter laugh. “Imagine the Great Santini being your dad! I had to do fifty pushups whenever I screwed up, and I was freakin’ seven years old.” Dean’s voice cracked again. “He raised us like caged vicious rats. I couldn’t have a girlfriend, I couldn’t go to chess club—“ His eyes widened. “Damn, I never told anyone that before.”

“So, your father wasn’t supportive of your interest in chess?”

“He wasn’t supportive about anything except killing monsters.” A tear slid down Dean’s face. “I didn’t have any friends ‘cause we kept changing schools. I could always get chicks, but man, all I wanted to was to hang out with a bunch of guys, smoke pot, play chess, learn to play the tuba. It’s a highly underappreciated instrument! Doc, I wanted an okay life. One I could stand.” More tears came pouring out. “Why didn’t Dad let me play the tuba? Is that fair, Doc? Is that right?”

“Right isn’t the question. How you feel is the question.”

“Like crap. All the time.” Dean’s body was heaving with sobs. “I had a stuffed penguin. I kept it hidden from Dad and Sam. I didn’t want them to laugh at me. Then—then D-Dad found me playing with it—and he made me tear it apart myself! He didn’t want me to feel attached to anything or anyone except him and Sam. What kind of asshole _does_ that?” Snot was running out of his nose, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. “Squiggy was my only friend! Dad was a sociopath, and now I’m-I’m a sociopath!” The last words barely came out, Dean was crying so hard. Dr. Penzance handed him a box of tissues.

“You’re not a sociopath, Dean. Sociopaths have no feelings.”

“I have feelings! _Sonavabitch, do I have feelings!_ Sometimes all I want is to be tucked into a warm soft bed in a nice house, with my blankie—Dad took that away, too—in pajamas.” Dean’s voice rose to a wail. “WHY IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK TO OWN PAJAMAS? Some dick in suburbia has three pairs of pajamas! I want pajamas with baseball players on them!” He coughed, he was crying so hard. “When we pass a kid’s store, I-I look at the onesies and—and--and I wish I had one, Doc, with feet and a little hoodie. Damn you, Dad, you took away Squiggy and my blankie and pajamas!” He blew his nose and wiped his snot-covered face. He tried and failed to smile. “Damn, Doc, you sure got a lot out of me.”

“Same time next week, then?”

Dean nodded, sniffling and wiping his reddened eyes. “Sure. But please, don’t tell Sammy.”

“You have complete confidentiality.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Good afternoon, Dean.”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Penzance.”

“Any progress on the cotton gin?”

“Sam thinks so, but all I know is that these dumb tourists keep putting their heads into it, the lid clamps down and they’re dead. It’s in a history museum with an alarm system. We’ve thought of burning it, but so far we can’t figure out a way to get through the alarms and gank the thing.” Dean shook his head. “A fucking cotton gin. The racist truck, that was bad enough, but a _cotton gin_? I didn’t even know what one was two weeks ago!”

Once again, the subtle odor of Georgia peaches wafted into Dr. Penzance’s office. The only sound, beyond the rustling of the leaves, was the white noise machine on the soft beige carpet. The doctor, as always, was composed, placid. He did not take notes for the obvious reason: it would get him killed. But it was clear that the cotton gin was not really what was bothering Dean.

“So, we were talking about your father forcing you to take care of your little brother—“

Dean stiffened. “It’s my job to keep Sam safe! That’s why I’m on this earth, to keep Sam safe!”

“We’ve already talked about the consequences of Sam deserting you. If your father had stayed with you, do you think things would be different?”

“No,” Dean said sullenly.

“Why not?”

“He was one scary dude. I would have had to keep Sam safe from Dad. Same either way. It’s my job.”

Dr. Penzance steepled his fingers in that annoying way he had. “So, you are saying you cannot visualize a life where you are _not_ taking care of your brother?”

“What’s the point?”

“Imagine...imagine if you had grown up without the responsibility of caring for another human being. Imagine you had no little brother, that you were your own _individual_ self.”

“Too late for that, doc.”

“Give it a try. Just sit back, relax, and let your mind wander.” Dr. Penzance smiled. “I’ll be right here, no monsters will get you.” 

“No little brother...” Dean forced himself to lie back in the brown leather chair and closed his eyes. “No little brother...” his voice faded. Suddenly Dean’s face contorted with unhappiness, and tears ran down his face. He snapped back up. “Do you know what, doc? It would be _great_!”

“Really, Dean? You surprise me.”

“Everything would be different!”

“Could you play the tuba?”

“Damn—damn straight I could play the tuba! I could have been in band! Oh my god, if only I’d had one week of normal childhood—“ Dean was again about to be overcome. Suddenly Castiel was standing next to him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Pardon me,” said the doctor, “but I’m in the middle of a session. Can you call back later?”

Castiel’s look was even more impassive than the doctor’s, if such a thing were possible. “No.”

Dean blew his nose. “Why are you even here, Cas? Dr. Penzance, this is Castiel. He’s an angel of the Lord.”

“Hello, Dr. Penzance. Is Dean sick? I can cure him.”

“He is not here because of physical illness, er, Castiel. Dean Winchester is here to talk _privately_. Now, if you will excuse us...”

Castiel gazed down at Dean. “I’m puzzled. You talk to _me_. Is this man a relative?”

“No, he’s a therapist. A dude who talks to people.”

“But everybody talks to people. Except me.”

“Cas, he’s not a witch doctor, he’s not a demon, he’s a trained, professional therapist. Now, flutter your ass out of here, my hour isn’t up yet.”

Castiel gave Dr. Penzance the stinkeye, and slowly the angel sword slid down into his hand. “You only have one hour?”

“Not like that, Cas! I have an hour—“

“45 minutes, Dean.”

“45 minutes to talk to Dr. Penzance.” 

Castiel sat on the arm of Dean’s armchair. “It is clear that I watch over this conversation. It sounds dangerous.”

“No, you can’t watch!” Dean snapped.

Castiel tilted his head, a hint of a smile on his face. “I can be invisible, you know.”

“All right, all right, you can watch. What are you _doing_ here?”

Castiel hemmed and hawed, glancing at Dr. Penzance. “You know that profound bond I mentioned?” he said in a low voice. “I’ve been feeling that you are in great pain. I thought I could help.”

The doctor sat up straighter. “Profound bond, Castiel? What sort of bond?”

“Between Dean and me.”

Dean rubbed his eyes. “Oh, jeez, Cas...”

“Are you lovers, Castiel?”

Castiel looked away. “Not in the physical sense.”

“CAS! Come ON! We’re not lovers in any sense, doc, he’s my angel. And I don’t mean he’s my _angel_ , I mean he’s my angel. Angel _buddy_. As in a non-romantic, we can date anyone we want kind of way.” Dean glared at Castiel. “Cas, did you have to blab about our ‘bond’?”

“I’m sorry. From this day forth our bond is a secret.”

“Oh, JESUS, Cas! Doc, he’s an angel, he doesn’t get how humans talk, he always ends up sounding like a dumbass.”

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and saved you from Perdition,” Castiel muttered.

“Not even going there, Cas.”

Dr. Penzance looked from man to angel and back again. “Castiel, that was a very good thing you did, saving Dean from Perdition. And your instinct to protect your, er, friend is laudable. But you are breaking doctor patient confidentiality—“

“He means _leave_!”

Castiel stood. “Is that what you truly want, Dean?”

Dean looked like he was going to punch someone in the face. “YES!”

And Castiel was gone.

“You think for one fucking moment, Cas would leave me alone!”

Dr. Penzance thought for a moment. “Dean, perhaps you and Castiel should come in for couples counseling.”


End file.
